Sports Medicine Master System

It wasn’t until the second half, when most of the starters were on the bench, that the Nuggets’ big Chinese player finally took the court.

But he seemed a little out of his element.

It wasn’t a matter of skill.

Chen Yu felt he was a very mature player who was probably quite formidable back in China.

Coupled with his strong physique, he had a considerable advantage against Charalidis.

But that was the extent of it.

Charalidis wasn’t some nobody, either. He was the undisputed star of the AEK Athens Team in Greece and had even helped them win a Greek league championship.

Most importantly, Chen Yu felt he hadn’t integrated well with the team. He didn’t seem familiar with his teammates, and they rarely passed him the ball.

This was the preseason, after all—a stage for rookies to shine. Anyone who got a chance to play had to desperately try to prove themselves.

He seemed to have played for about ten minutes. Chen Yu remembered it clearly: he got 2 points, 4 rebounds, and 2 turnovers.

That performance...

Chen Yu pursed his lips. All he could say was that it wasn’t good enough.

Or rather, it was very poor.

And he probably wasn’t young, either.

If he were a high schooler, a team might take a gamble on his potential. But at his age, entering the NBA, he had to be plug-and-play. Otherwise, he could easily be cut.

In the end, despite Hardaway’s 19-point first half, the Phoenix Suns lost to the Nuggets by 5 points.

But it didn’t matter. Nobody cared.

After the game, Chen Yu made a point of walking over to Bartel to greet him and say, "Keep it up."

It was just a polite platitude. After saying it, he turned to leave, but someone behind him called his name.

He looked back and saw it was Bartel’s agent.

"Dr. Chen, thank you," Xia Song said, also expressing his gratitude.

Chen Yu said it was nothing and chatted for a couple more moments, asking if the Nuggets were planning to sign Bartel.

"It’s hard to say," Xia Song sighed.

Bartel had an advantage—his strength. Both Vandeweghe and Isel were deeply impressed by his power. Unfortunately, Bartel wasn’t adapting well and his stamina was poor. These were all shortcomings.

On top of that, the authorities back in China hadn’t given the green light yet. So, even now, Xia Song didn’t know if the Nuggets would offer a contract or at least a commitment to sign him.

Looking at Bartel, Xia Song couldn’t help but sigh. "It’s still a bit difficult for Chinese players to make it to the NBA. Wang Zhizhi’s prospects with the Mavericks aren’t great either. Maybe only Yao Ming has a better chance."

"Huh?"

Chen Yu was taken aback. He hadn’t realized there were other Chinese players in the NBA.

’The Mavericks?’

In this era, news traveled slowly. Unless he was specifically looking for it, it was hard for Chen Yu to get information from Dallas, thousands of kilometers away.

After asking a few more questions, Chen Yu shook hands with Xia Song and departed.

Chen Yu went to the locker room for a quick look.

It was just a preseason game, and the players hadn’t exerted themselves much. Chen Yu didn’t need to give them massages to relax their bodies. After saying a quick hello, he found Jordan, and they rode back to the clinic together.

"Michael, back at the ’98 Nike training camp, do you remember a big guy from China named Yao Ming?" Chen Yu asked Jordan, who was busy texting beside him.

"Who?"

Jordan looked up, a blank expression on his face.

Chen Yu had just learned from Xia Song that a Chinese player named Wang Zhizhi had signed with the Mavericks late last season and played a few games.

Besides him, there was another player named Yao Ming, who had attended the Nike summer training camp back in 1998.

Chen Yu knew about that camp. Along with the Ahdi ABCD Training Camp, it was one of the two major events in American high school basketball. Geniuses like Kobe, Carter, and Tracy McGrady had all played there.

Anyone invited to that camp was, without exception, a prodigy.

At the same time, Chen Yu also recalled something Tatum had told him before: Stern was paying close attention to a certain big man from China. It had to be this Yao Ming.

And if Chen Yu’s memory served him right, Jordan should have been present at that ’98 summer camp.

"A big guy?"

Jordan stared at Chen Yu for a long moment, then nodded as if in sudden realization. "I remember now. I think there was a guy like that. Super tall, maybe seven-foot-four, or seven-foot-five. Anyway, really, really tall."

"He just sucked," Jordan added at the end with a predictable pout.

’You think everyone sucks,’ Chen Yu thought.

But to be seven-foot-five was truly exceptionally tall.

Of course, Chen Yu was just asking out of curiosity.

Apparently, the guy was entering the draft next year. The Phoenix Suns had traded all their picks for next year to the Rockets in the Olajuwon deal, so there was no way he would come to the Suns.

The next morning, Jordan had already packed his bags, eager to leave.

He hugged Chen Yu cheerfully, proclaiming that he could finally say goodbye to Chen Yu’s demonic training regimen. He was never coming back to this clinic again.

Chen Yu ignored him, shook hands with Tim Grover, and then smiled as he instructed him to make sure Jordan kept up with his training after he got to Washington.

"At his age, if he wants to maintain his form and stay healthy on the court, training is crucial."

That one sentence made Jordan cry out like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

"Chen, you take that back! What do you mean, ’at my age’?" Jordan protested indignantly. "Next time we play the Phoenix Suns, watch me light you guys up."

Chen Yu simply ignored him and said with a smile, "Physical Fitness No.1, and the plasters—I’ll mail them to you regularly. I’ve also taught you the acupressure massage. Anyway, all the best."

Grover nodded emphatically and couldn’t resist hugging Chen Yu again.

During these days of supervising Jordan’s training at the clinic, he had also learned a great deal from Chen Yu.

Jordan huffed softly, then turned to hug Lexi goodbye. "Lexi, you two have to invite me to your wedding."

Lexi nodded, then shot Chen Yu a couple of resentful glares.

Now that they were in Phoenix, with a career and a house and everything, they kept talking about getting married. But they were just so busy. Chen Yu, especially, was too swamped to find time to plan a wedding. It had been postponed again and again, and there was no telling when it would finally happen.

Jordan left.

He had originally invited Chen Yu to Washington to watch his season opener.

Chen Yu had declined.

He didn’t even know if he could make it to the Suns’ own season opener, so how could he have time to go to Washington?

He had things to do today. Desler was coming.

But what Chen Yu didn’t expect was the arrival of what seemed like a tour group.

Desler had a high-bridged nose, choppy hair, and a face full of boyish innocence. His eyes held a hint of melancholy; he was a handsome young man.

Schumacher had naturally accompanied him to the United States.

Traveling with them was Desler’s agent, Noel Bauer.

And then there was another group.

"Chen, my apologies. We decided to come at the last minute. I hope we’re not intruding," said Franz Beckenbauer.

Chen Yu recognized him.

Next to him was the Bayern player Mehmet Scholl, with his chiseled features and a slightly concerning receding hairline.

His agent, Eltan, had also come along.

Add in Beckenbauer’s assistant, and it really was a tour group.

"Hello," Chen Yu said, shaking hands with each of them and ushering them into the medical center.

Desler was still in a wheelchair, being pushed by Schumacher’s assistant, quietly observing everything in the clinic.

Chen Yu gave him a second look.

He seemed a bit too quiet, but perhaps it was just because he was in an unfamiliar country.

He was only 21, after all.

In the spacious reception area, Chen Yu invited them all to sit.

Desler’s situation was straightforward. He had come for medical treatment as planned, so he just needed to be admitted.

The issue was Scholl’s party.

Beckenbauer gestured to his assistant, who stepped forward. He was dragging a small suitcase, which he opened in front of Chen Yu.

It was full of medical records.

"Chen, I’ve long heard of your great name. You are a truly outstanding doctor, and you even healed Ronaldo." As he spoke, he pointed to Scholl. "Mehmet is one of our best players at Bayern, but he has been plagued by injuries. We’ve seen many doctors in Europe, but we’ve been unable to keep him healthy. So this time, I’d like to ask you to perform a diagnosis and offer some treatment advice."

Chen Yu looked toward Scholl.

Scholl managed a smile, his eyes tinged with bitterness.

’He probably thinks of himself as one of the most famously injury-prone players in soccer.’

Chen Yu looked away, unfazed by Beckenbauer’s flattery.

’You didn’t come in the summer. Why now? It must be because you saw Ronaldo’s form after his comeback.’

Just yesterday, in the 9th round of Serie A, Inter had played Juventus.

Ronaldo, fresh off scoring a four-goal haul in the derby, had delivered another stellar performance, scoring a brace to help his team win 2-1.

Six goals in two matches. His form couldn’t be described as just red-hot; it was a volcanic eruption.

Batty had come to the United States for this very reason, so Beckenbauer was surely here for the same one.

"No problem."

Chen Yu would certainly not refuse a patient who came knocking on his door.

As for the fees, Chen Yu didn’t even bring them up.

They would be expensive, and it’s not like they would care.

He glanced at the thick stack of medical records in the suitcase. The last person to bring their records in a suitcase was Baggio.

Chen Yu called his assistants, arranging for the two players to begin their examinations, then started flipping through Scholl’s medical records.

It was safe to say his injury history was no shorter than Baggio’s.

The earliest one could be traced back to ’92: a tear of the medial and lateral ligaments in his ankle. In ’93, a tear of the lateral meniscus in his right knee. In ’94, a severe muscle strain in his right leg. Later on, it was his right ankle again, with the lateral ligament tearing once more, which also led to right Achilles tendonitis.

Oh, and in that same year, he tore his ACL and was out for over two hundred days.

And just this May, during the Champions League final, he sprained his right ankle again. He first opted for conservative treatment, but when that failed, he underwent surgery in September to repair the torn tendon.

And these were only the more serious injuries.

The other bruises and sprains were just minor trifles.

Compared to Baggio, however, Scholl’s situation was somewhat better.

His ligaments were constantly tearing, but they had never completely ruptured.

Chen Yu stood up to go look at their examinations.

Using the Eye of All-Seeing, he could see things more clearly.

Desler’s problem was obvious: a ruptured ACL. The wound was fresh.

But Chen Yu had already discovered that this was an old injury.

Chen Yu hadn’t looked at Desler’s medical records yet, but he could tell that his ACL and the MCL in his left knee had both been injured before; there was scar tissue from previous tears.

Even his groin had issues.

By that count, his right leg was also riddled with injuries.

Then there was Scholl.

Chen Yu’s Eye of All-Seeing scanned his entire body and suddenly focused on his lumbar spine.

’Does this guy have a herniated disc too?’

The fibrous ring of the intervertebral disc between Scholl’s L3 and L4 vertebrae was torn, and the nucleus pulposus was protruding.

And it was on the verge of compressing his nerves and blood vessels.